


Unknown.

by coffeehousehaunt



Category: Orphan Black
Genre: F/F, Punky Monkey, Werewolf!Sarah, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah comes back wilder than she left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. I blame [this post](http://orphanwolf22.tumblr.com/post/92456666957/werewolf-au-sarah-and-tony-as-werewolf-twins).

Cosima is counting. Cataloguing the changes, while her shoulders are pressed tight to the wall and _this is the freeze response_ sits in her muscles like Sarah's presence alone opens a dictionary Cosima keeps somewhere in her DNA.  
   
 _Body heat. Increased._ Sarah's breath is hot on her neck and she feels feverish and Cosima isn't even touching her. The zipper on Sarah's leather jacket snags rough on Cosima's shirt, and the inches between them roil, hot, polarized. The vulnerable skin of her belly almost pressed to Sarah's. Lower. Sarah's thigh is between hers, but not touching, not moving; she's preoccupied with other things. _Psychological. Unknown._  
   
This one's more difficult to categorize. The deliberate way she moves--jointed, one body part at a time, how she tilts her head and moves her neck to get at the vulnerable spots, all seemingly without moving her shoulders. It's eerie, how silent she's gone, how little she seems to move. That's new.  
   
 _Musculoskeletal system. Unknown._  
   
There's a scraping sound to either side of her head, and a muscle twitches somewhere in Cosima's stomach, trying to break, to run; something low in the back of her skull screams at her that, still or running, the end is the same. She struggles to breathe, to not breathe, to stay still-- _Skeletal. Claws._ \--that mouth is just this side of touching the artery in her neck. _Skeletal. Canines._ She can tell herself it's Sarah as much as she wants, but it doesn't change the instinct hammering in her ears, firing in her muscles.  
   
Humans aren't prey animals. There's still a voice in her head saying, _Fucking_ werewolves, _man_.  
   
Cosima watches the new creature Sarah's become, half trusting that Sarah won't hurt her, no matter what she is now, half frozen, veins pumping with the knowledge that she is _absolutely_ the prey right now, while Sarah slides further down. That gaze, that mouth, passes in front of her solar plexus, _Kill zone_ , and the moment it does, Cosima feels something sear, and she didn't know her body could _make_ this much adrenaline. Any moment Sarah could take that snarl--she kept _that_ \--and tear her open--and, very very distantly, Cosima is aware that she's shaking.  
   
And she is painfully aware of how _wet_ she is. When Sarah slides just that much lower, Cosima feels it again--icy-tight, swollen, and it occurs to her that Sarah can probably smell that, too, not just her fear. _Olfactory. Unknown._ Sarah's arms are on either side of her body, at hip-level, and between that and where she's crouched, Cosima's legs tremble slightly; the nerves there lit up. The muscles in her inner thighs weaken; her mind flashes on those claws digging into her skin, that mouth hot and sharp as it slicks over the vulnerable flesh right there in front of Sarah's face with almost nothing between them, and who knew adrenaline made this shit so _vivid_ (well, she did, but that's not the point)--  
   
Sarah breaks away, breathing hard, flattens her palms against the wall and presses, but doesn't push away, hair falling wild around her face while she closes her eyes and rocks back on her heels.  
   
Cosima almost says something, almost reaches out to touch her hair and soothe her, bring this back down somewhere sane. But Sarah looks up at her with those new eyes, shaded somewhere between neon and blood, and Cosima can't even breathe, because that look in them, wide-eyed, almost glazed over, raw and singular, like _Sarah's_ the one who's transfixed by _Cosima_ , when she's coiled in front of Cosima like every predator Cosima can think of, that's--  
   
That's pure Sarah.  
   
"Cos." Sarah manages, rusty and far too low-- _Larynx. Unknown._ \--and that adrenaline turns hot and liquid.  
   
"Sarah," Cosima breathes, and it takes so long for her hand to just brush Sarah's cheek, but when it does, Sarah tenses under her hand, tenses everywhere. _Strike._ It's the next logical move. Isn't it? Down in her brain stem, something is shouting about teeth, teeth and red and lightning. _Strike._

_Unknown. Unknown._


End file.
